


a different kind of dance

by almostafantasia



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, PWP, Period clothing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, a little bit kinkier than originally planned, cravat bondage, hopefully making up for lack of context with smut, loosely inspired by the concept of villanelle and eve dancing together, though i haven't actually decided when this takes place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostafantasia/pseuds/almostafantasia
Summary: In which I decided to ignore historical accuracy in favour of letting our two favourite ladies seduce each other and then BONE.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 328





	a different kind of dance

It begins, as all great tales of seduction do, with a single moment of eye contact across a crowded room.

Villanelle notices the woman as soon as she enters because how could she  _ not? _ She must have been brought here specifically to tempt Villanelle, the neckline of her sapphire blue dress low enough to reveal the sharp ‘V’ of her clavicle beneath olive skin, her dark hair piled up on top of her head and held in place by pins that Villanelle’s fingers itch to remove one by one. The woman’s hands are covered in black silk gloves that extend up her forearms, and Villanelle cannot help the way that her mind starts to picture what it would be like to peel those gloves away, kissing each inch of beautiful skin as she exposes it.

There will be time for that  _ later. _

And then, as if she can feel Villanelle’s eyes on her from across the room, the woman turns and their gazes lock. 

Pupils as black as midnight suck Villanelle into their depths and before she realises what is happening, she is gliding across the ballroom, weaving in and out of the dancers that she barely even notices, now that her mind is set on one thing only.

“May I have this dance?”

The woman says nothing, but answers the question by offering out a single gloved hand, which Villanelle accepts with one of her own while bringing her other hand to the woman’s corseted waist.

Villanelle is not the best dancer, but she  _ does _ know that actual dancing ability is only a part of this game. It’s mostly about confidence, which she oozes. She brings their bodies together, a move which accents their height difference - just enough that Villanelle is comfortably in control but not so much that she cannot maintain absolute eye contact. 

“You are a work of art,” says Villanelle, as they glide around the dancefloor. “A masterpiece.”

“That’s quite arrogant of you, don’t you think?”

The woman’s voice is deeper than Villanelle was expecting, with a husky quality that goes straight from Villanelle’s ears to the pit of her abdomen, where it hangs like a weight.

So she’s not the kind of simpering beauty that Villanelle is used to wooing. That’s not a problem. Villanelle can adapt and she  _ relishes _ a challenge.

“Arrogant?” Villanelle asks, arching an eyebrow.

“To ask me to dance, then feed me the same lines you probably give to every poor girl you want to seduce. It’s arrogant to assume that will work on me.”

Oh, so this woman has quick wit and a clever tongue to match? Villanelle can feel herself growing hot beneath her collar as she starts to wonder what else this woman might be capable of.

“And yet,” Villanelle challenges her with an excited glint in her eyes, “you still said yes when I asked you to dance.”

“I didn’t want to bruise your ego,” quips the woman.

Villanelle rolls her eyes.

“It will take more than that to bruise my ego.”

Dropping Villanelle’s hand and stepping back as if to duck out of Villanelle’s hold, the woman says, “Then you won’t mind if I-”

With lightning reflexes, Villanelle’s hand reaches out to grab the woman’s and she pulls their bodies flush together, stopping her from being able to walk away. Villanelle is now acutely aware of the way that the woman’s breasts press against hers, smaller than her own but while Villanelle’s are bound to her chest to make them flatter, the woman’s corset pushes hers up to emphasise them against the low-cut hem of her dress.

Villanelle tilts her head to the side and, with the corners of her lips just barely curling up into a smile, says, “Now that would just be rude.”

The woman lifts her chin to stare directly at Villanelle with the hint of a challenge in her dark eyes. For just a moment, Villanelle wonders if maybe this is the moment to forgo all propriety and just kiss her in the middle of this crowded ballroom, scandal be damned. But then Villanelle blinks and the moment is gone, and they fall back into step, moving between the other dancing couples with a greater sense of closeness than before.

“What is your name?” asks Villanelle.

“Eve.”

“Eve,” Villanelle repeats, testing out the single syllable on the whisper of her tongue. “A beautiful name. I’m Villanelle.”

“I know who you are.”

Villanelle isn’t surprised by this - she is the niece of the count, the only woman bold enough to wear a man’s tailcoat and trousers instead of a gown, with a reputation amongst the noblewomen for doing less than noble things with them behind closed doors. But hearing confirmation from Eve, this  _ goddess _ amongst mortals, that she already knows of Villanelle, is enough to stir Villanelle into making her next move.

“You do?” she asks, in a low voice. “Then you know that my uncle owns this castle?”

Eve nods once.

As they continue to dance, Villanelle drops her hand from Eve’s waist and reaches into her pocket, pulling out an iron key, which she holds up for Eve to see.

“Up two flights of stairs from the entrance hall,” she says to Eve. “There’s a hallway to the left. I’ll be in the third room on the right.”

Without breaking eye contact, Villanelle tucks the key into Eve’s dress, sliding it between the material of her dress and the side of her breast. Eve inhales as the cold metal touches her skin and if Villanelle had any doubt before that Eve would choose not to follow her upstairs, it is gone as soon as Eve’s lips part and her tongue darts out to moisten them.

God, this might just be the best prize that Villanelle has ever won, and it’s not even hers yet.

Villanelle leans down so that her lips are close to Eve’s ear, then whispers, “I have that whole wing to myself. Nobody will be able to hear it when I make you scream.”

And then, Villanelle pulls back and brings Eve’s gloved hand to her lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses to silk-covered fingers, before she turns on her heels and strides past the other dancers to the door, leaving Eve alone in the middle of the room.

* * *

Eve keeps Villanelle waiting for a full quarter of an hour.

Up in her room, Villanelle decides to take her tailcoat off and hangs it on the back of a chair, but keeps the rest of her clothes, including her blood red cravat, on. It gets her all hot and bothered just thinking about Eve’s fingers, free of their silk confines, deftly removing each of these garments with painstaking care.

Villanelle, on the other hand, wants nothing more than to grab one side of Eve’s dress in each hand and rip the lace bodice open at the back until it falls away to the floor.

Oh, how she will ruin Eve tonight. How she will  _ devour _ her.

When she hears the unmistakable sound of a key being slotted into the lock on the door, Villanelle has just enough time to throw herself onto the four poster bed and artfully arrange herself so that she is propped up on one arm facing the door. 

Eve’s hand is the first thing that Villanelle sees, her gloved fingers curling around the door as it swings open, followed by the rest of her body as she glides into the room. 

“Hello, Eve,” Villanelle drawls, lowering her voice in an attempt to sound suave and mysterious.

Eve acknowledges Villanelle on the bed with a glance, eyes scanning up and down Villanelle’s body in a quick appraisal, before she turns away and wanders around Villanelle’s large bedchamber, stopping every so often to admire an oil painting on the wall or an antique vase on a table.

“A whole wing to yourself?” Eve says casually, stopping in front of a large Rembrandt with her back to Villanelle. “Isn’t that a little excessive?”

“Not for what I’ve got planned.”

“Oh yes?” Eve turns to look over her shoulder at Villanelle, one eyebrow raised. “And what would that be?”

Villanelle pushes herself up off the bed and prowls towards Eve.

“I don’t think I’ve been particularly shy about what I want.”

Standing behind Eve gives Villanelle just as good of a view as from the front. From here, Villanelle can see the intricacies of Eve’s hair, each curl carefully pinned into place. A few stray wisps at Eve’s lower hairline draw Villanelle’s eyes to Eve’s neck, long and smooth and just begging for Villanelle’s lips to trace across the pulse point beneath her ear.

“You’re being awfully presumptuous,” Eve replies, still keeping her back to Villanelle.

“And yet, you followed me up here,” says Villanelle, stepping yet closer until she can rest a hand on each side of Eve’s corseted waist.

“Consider me intrigued.”

Villanelle dips her head and presses the ghost of a kiss to the side of Eve’s neck. She waits, testing the waters to see how Eve reacts. When Eve makes no move away, Villanelle repeats the gesture, trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses down the column of Eve’s neck until she gets to the point where neck meets shoulder. 

Eve does nothing to encourage her, but she does nothing to stop Villanelle either. Eve’s apparent indifference is infuriating - women are normally on their knees begging for Villanelle to touch them by now - but Villanelle is never one to back down from a challenge. She brings her hands up Eve’s side and across her back until she finds the first tiny button holding the back of Eve’s dress together. Her fingers pause, toying with the button in an obvious implication of what she wants to do next, waiting for Eve to tell her to stop. 

Yet still Eve says nothing. She must have the self-control of a saint, which is why Villanelle sinks her teeth into Eve’s neck, catching the skin and basking in the gasp that Eve is unable to stop from escaping her lips.

“Tell me to stop,” says Villanelle, as her fingers, trembling from excitement, start to undo each button on the back of the dress.

“Why would I do that?” comes Eve’s breathy reply. 

Triumphing over the last button, they work together to remove Eve’s dress. Next come the petticoats, and then Villanelle gets to work on Eve’s corset.

It takes time to undress a woman, but there are very few things that Villanelle enjoys more. She likes to do it slowly, pressing kisses to each new area of exposed skin, showing off her skilled fingers as she carefully loosens the lace on a corset. It’s all part of the seduction. By the time Eve is naked in front of her, Villanelle plans to have her so wound up that she is desperate to be touched.

When the corset is loose enough to be removed, Eve finally turns to face Villanelle wearing just her silk camisole and a pair of drawers that cover her legs down to where they are gathered at her knees. Villanelle lifts her hand and cups Eve’s jaw, then sends it back so that her fingers bury themselves deep in Eve’s hair, loosening the pins until her curls tumble in a beautiful cascade down her shoulders.

“Perfect,” murmurs Villanelle.

Her hand continues to caress Eve’s scalp, and she slowly leans her face closer to Eve’s, eyes flicking down to Eve’s lips and back up again.

Eve waits until their mouths are barely an inch away from meeting, before she murmurs, “Get on the bed.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and counters, “I think you’ll find that I’m usually the one giving or-”

“I said, get on the bed.”

Now  _ this _ is new.

Villanelle cannot say that she is entirely opposed to it. Eve’s eyes are dark, irises consumed by her pupils, like a gateway to her soul. She stares at Villanelle with hunger, full lips slightly parted and looking almost feral with her wild hair down. Villanelle pretends to be reluctant about the way that she sits on the end of the bed without breaking eye contact, as if she isn’t happy about being the one to take orders.

Secretly, though she would never dream of admitting it to anybody, she is actually quite excited about this surprise turn of events.

Eve prowls over to where Villanelle sits, the removal of her heavy dress and petticoats allowing the freedom of movement to swing her legs over Villanelle’s hips, planting one knee on the mattress on either side of her. Villanelle’s hands are drawn to Eve’s body, palms coming to rest on the swell of her hips.

“You are just full of surprises, Eve.”

Eve sweeps her own hair out of her face with her fingers, then drapes her arms around Villanelle’s neck.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

And then she ducks down to meet Villanelle’s lips in a kiss that has felt inevitable since they locked eyes in the ballroom downstairs.

Eve’s lips are just as soft as Villanelle imagined they would be, perhaps even softer. Within an instant Villanelle is lost, helpless to Eve’s touch. There’s a tongue sweeping across the seam of her lips, and Villanelle gasps, and then that same tongue is inside her mouth.

Villanelle’s fingers tighten on Eve’s hips, clawing at flesh through the thin material of Eve’s drawers.

And then, without any warning, Eve tips forward and Villanelle is falling back, back,  _ back  _ until she hits the mattress, Eve’s body on top of hers and her lips hungrily taking whatever they can get. Villanelle has never felt this powerless before, never felt this far away from being in control.

She has never felt this  _ alive. _

As Eve’s hands find the front of Villanelle’s shirt and start popping open the buttons holding it together, Villanelle lets her own roam across Eve’s body. She slides them up Eve’s back beneath her camisole, tracing the hard ridges of her spine, then brings one around to Eve’s front, fingers splayed across Eve’s abdomen, before moving it upwards towards Eve’s nipple.

“I don’t think so,” Eve mumbles against Villanelle’s lips as she undoes the last button and pulls the shirt open to expose Villanelle’s chest.

Before Villanelle has time for her brain to catch up to what is going on around her, Eve’s fingers clasp around each of Villanelle’s wrists and she drags them upwards. Villanelle lets out a cry of disappointment as both hands get pinned above her head, but the sound is swallowed by Eve’s open mouth catching hers in another hungry kiss. 

Their current position may make it seem like Eve is the one leading but Villanelle is not completely powerless. She knows that she is stronger than Eve and could break free and flip their positions at any moment, and she wants Eve to know that, which is why Villanelle brings her teeth into the equation, nipping at Eve’s plump lower lip and then soothing over it with her tongue. It’s Eve’s turn to gasp, and Villanelle lifts her hips off the bed in a silent message to Eve that if she wants to keep the reins, then she needs to start moving things along before Villanelle gets too impatient to comply.

Eve fingers tighten around Villanelle’s wrist in response, a warning against trying to take control.

This is so far removed from what Villanelle has planned for tonight, so far removed from what she is used to. The women she normally seduces are obedient, giving in to the pleasures of the flesh for the first time or tempted away from their husbands with the promise of a night of unadulterated passion. Villanelle always takes charge, without exception, touching them and tasting them under her ears ring with cries of her own name. She never lets them touch her, much preferring to wait until they have left before bringing herself to climax with her own hand instead.

Why, then, is Eve different?

Villanelle  _ wants _ to give in, she  _ wants  _ to let Eve have her and control her and touch her. She aches for Eve’s touch, her fingers, her mouth, her  _ anything. _

“Are you going to do as you’re told?” asks Eve, holding both of Villanelle’s hands above her head with just one of her own, while her other thumb traces across Villanelle’s lips.

“Of course not,” Villanelle replies, lifting her head just enough to catch that teasing thumb between her teeth.

Eve cups Villanelle’s jaw with her fingers and presses their foreheads together.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

She dips down to kiss Villanelle again and Villanelle is only too keen to lift her head from the bed to kiss her back, tongue trying to incite some urgency in Eve. Villanelle feels an uncomfortable throb deep in the pit of her abdomen and has to clench her legs together to alleviate some of her arousal. Eve must sense Villanelle’s discomfort because her lips curl up into a smirk against Villanelle’s, and her fingers trace a path from Villanelle’s jaw down to her neck. Eve’s fingers wrap around her throat, as if going to choke her, but the touch is only fleeting before they move down yet further and start to unwind the cravat from around Villanelle’s neck.

Villanelle wishes that she had the use of her hands, in fact she  _ almost _ snatches them free because there are so many things that she wants to be doing with them - helping to remove her own clothes, burying them deep in Eve’s beautiful hair, pinning  _ Eve’s _ hands to the bed. But she is also intrigued to see what Eve wants to do, how far Eve will go.

With Villanelle’s cravat out of the way, Eve’s mouth descends to her neck, her breath hitting just below her ear before her lips make contact, sucking a sweet spot and then soothing it with her tongue. Villanelle’s eyes flicker shut and she lets out a breathy gasp, wishing now more than ever that she could fist a hand into Eve’s wild mane and hold her mouth in place.

And then, while Villanelle is moaning distractedly at the tongue on her neck, Eve’s hand goes up to join its partner and Villanelle feels something silky against her fingers. It is really hard to concentrate with Eve’s mouth sucking a bruise where her pulse flutters in her throat, and Villanelle realises only too late that Eve is using Villanelle’s own cravat to bind her wrists together above her head.

“What are you doing?” Villanelle asks.

“Making sure that you behave.”

Eve lifts her head from Villanelle’s neck to admire her handiwork. She looks pleased with what she sees and with Villanelle’s hands tied together, Eve’s are both now free. Her dark eyes, lids heavy with arousal, stare into Villanelle’s with a glimmer of something mischievous, then she shuffles backwards and lets her hands drop to the fastening of Villanelle’s trousers. 

“You know I could break free at any moment?” asks Villanelle, wriggling her arms above her head to emphasise her point.

“Are you going to try?” Eve challenges her, crawling backwards far enough to have the room to roughly yank Villanelle’s trousers down her legs.

Eve throws the garment somewhere behind her, then pushes Villanelle’s knees open and settles between them.

Villanelle hesitates for a second, before she concedes, “Not yet.”

This is completely new. It is all brand new territory for Villanelle but this, being spread open on the bed for Eve to admire, is forcing Villanelle to be more vulnerable than she has ever been before. It terrifies and thrills Villanelle in equal measure, not used to relinquishing control to a woman that she hardly knows but also strangely excited by the way that Eve’s eyes examine every inch of her body. 

It’s not fair that Villanelle is like this, shirt still on but hanging open and otherwise completely bare, while Eve still maintains some of her modesty in her undergarments.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Villanelle orders Eve, in an attempt to still hold onto the tiniest modicum of control.

“Why don’t you take them off yourself?” Eve quips back. Her eyes flicker up to Villanelle’s bound hands and she says, “Oh, wait. You can’t…”

“Don’t tempt me, Eve,” growls Villanelle, shooting her a warning glare.

Villanelle could have their positions reversed in an instant. She’s got some rope somewhere, could use it to tie each of Eve’s limbs to one of the bedposts, now that would really teach her a less-

_ Oh _ .

Eve’s tongue is on her.

Oh  _ god _ .

It’s-

There are no words to describe how she feels when Eve puts her mouth between Villanelle’s legs, nothing even comes close to describing the turbulent mix of feelings. Villanelle just knows that she wants more, which is why she lifts her hips off the bed as Eve’s tongue swipes up between her folds. She must be so wet, embarrassingly wet,  _ disgracefully  _ wet. Villanelle knows that she has never been this aroused in her life.

Is it a relinquishing control thing? Or is it an Eve thing?

Eve chooses that exact moment to wrap her lips around Villanelle’s clit while she sinks a single finger inside Villanelle, and oh yes it’s  _ definitely _ an Eve thing.

“Fuck,” Villanelle manages to gasp out. 

“So eloquent,” Eve teases, her voice sending vibrations through Villanelle’s core, and yes, fuck just about describes it.

_ Fuck _ , Villanelle thinks to herself again.  _ Fuck me. Fuck you. Fuck these stupid restraints. _

Villanelle wants to tangle her hands in Eve’s hair, she wants to hold Eve’s mouth against her clit and ride her hips up into Eve’s mouth until she climaxes, and Villanelle realises that there is nothing but a warning that is stopping her from bringing her hands down to do just that. Still tied together by the silk of her cravat, Villanelle moves her hands down her body and over Eve, placing her joined wrists against the back of Eve’s head and holding her mouth close. Eve makes a disgruntled noise when she realises that Villanelle is misbehaving and pulls her finger out, before pushing it back in with a second, rougher than before, and sets a pace that twists at Villanelle’s insides in the most delightful of ways.

“Eve,” Villanelle spurs her on, as Eve’s tongue continues to lash against Villanelle’s clit in time with the fingers that thrust in and out. “Yes, Eve, just like that.”

“Pretty girl,” Eve whispers, in between swipes of her tongue. “Such a pretty girl.”

“Eve.”

It’s the only thing that Villanelle can still say. She can feel her orgasm building and it’s consuming her entire being, until the only word left in her brain is Eve’s name. Villanelle worships Eve’s name with moans that become increasingly incoherent as Eve drives her wild, fingers twisting and curling with each thrust, tongue hitting that spot over and over and over and…

_ “Eve...” _

Eve is the only thing on her mind until there is nothing on her mind at all, just an empty void where thoughts should be as Eve brings her crashing over the precipice of pleasure. 

Coaxing each tremor out of her with a curl of her fingers, Eve guides Villanelle through the orgasm until she is spent and her voice is hoarse from chanting Eve’s name mixed with expletives.

“It’s lucky that you have the whole wing to yourself,” says Eve, as she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and crawls up the bed until her face is hovering just over Villanelle’s. “I expect you would be quite embarrassed if everybody heard you making those sounds. Your reputation would be in pieces.”

Villanelle wriggles her hands until the silk binding them together becomes loose enough to free herself, then finally buries her fingers deep in Eve’s thick hair.

“Fuck my reputation,” rasps Villanelle. “No woman has ever made me feel like that before.”

Eve looks thoroughly proud of herself at this confession.

“You’re welcome.”

Already feeling herself starting to get worked up again just from the hazy look in Eve’s dark eyes, Villanelle quickly flips their positions so that she is straddling Eve’s legs.

“How can I possibly thank you?” Villanelle asks.

Eve’s eyelids flutter as Villanelle rolls her hips down into Eve’s and she lets out a soft gasp.

“I’m sure you must have some ideas.”

Reaching for the discarded cravat, and with her mind already coming up with an entire list of good uses for the piece of silk, Villanelle leans down so that her lips almost touch Eve’s, before she replies, “Oh, I’ve got a few…”


End file.
